


I Was Lost But Left A Trace

by candlemaker



Series: Forever is a Close and Honest Friend [2]
Category: Captain America (Movies), Captain America - All Media Types, Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Dehumanization, Implied/Referenced HYDRA Trash Parties, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, M/M, Peer Pressure, Readable as a standalone story, The Asset Needs A Hug, Victim Blaming, malfunctions
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-22
Updated: 2019-06-22
Packaged: 2020-05-16 13:17:21
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,585
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19318969
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/candlemaker/pseuds/candlemaker
Summary: Disorientated, the Asset reached up to wipe at the moisture on its cheeks and was shocked to find it clear, instead of the crimson it has been expecting. It didn’t understand why this misidentification had caused uproarious laughter from the technicians.“It is not blood,” the Asset told him, “but it is still a malfunction.”This sobered the technician a little, and he nodded tightly.“Yes. It is. But we will fix you.”





	I Was Lost But Left A Trace

**Author's Note:**

> It is not necessary to read 'all these riots of broken sound' to read this fic! But this is an expanded, Bucky POV version of the overarching post-mission HYDRA trash memory from chapters 1-3 of that fic.  
> -  
> There is no on-screen rape/non-con in this fic, hence the tags, although there is frank discussion of it and implications that it is about to occur. Please take caution if that's something that triggers you.

The post-mission room of the HYDRA base is unremarkable and sterile; white tiles line the floor and walls, silver metal tables lean against one side of the room while a row of shower heads span the other. A row of lockers stands next to the tables, each labelled with the surname and ID of a STRIKE team agent. The Asset has been given several lockers due to the multitude of weapons it is proficient with. Its lockers are unlabelled, as it has no name.

As the Asset enters, it navigates to its designated station to methodically remove, clean and store each of its weapons. It carries out this task as efficiently as possible, as it does all tasks, but weapon maintenance holds some special significance that it cannot pinpoint. It goes like this; knives first, then guns, then grenades. Remove, then dismantle; wash, then store. Perhaps this sequence has been programmed into it by a previous Handler, too many wipes ago to remember. Perhaps it takes special care of its weapons since it is a weapon, too.

It flicks hair out of its eyes and huffs beneath the mask, feeling a rare pang of frustration. Why do the Handlers insist on this length? It impedes visual capabilities with the slightest wind. At times it is grateful for the mask, only so the hair cannot enter its mouth. The voices in the hallway are getting closer, but its task is almost complete. The STRIKE agents will take roughly 59 seconds to reach and enter the Debrief Room, and will have fully divested themselves of their weapons and outer armour within 3 minutes. The asset only requires 2 minutes and 10 seconds to complete its weapon maintenance.

The STRIKE agents move into the room exactly on cue, as they always do. The Asset finds the accents strangely familiar, even though it knows from the loose talk of technicians that it has been stationed with the Soviets for the past few decades and with Germans before that. Perhaps it was stationed in America in an even more distant past. Perhaps it was made here. It does not know where it comes from. It finds English easy to understand, but it is fluent in most world languages, so this means little. It wonders what accent it has been programmed to speak with, but does not dare open its mouth to speak without a direct question to respond to.

It doesn’t remember ever having spoken. Perhaps it has not been asked a question since its last wipe.

It finishes cleaning the blood from its sharpest knife when the STRIKE team moves further into the room to their own stations. The Asset straightens its back and tenses in anticipation of an order.  _Ready to comply._

“Soldier,” its Handler orders, “Wash that blood off your face and hands, now.”

The Asset feels that strange pang of frustration return – the additional order will take upwards of 45 seconds to carry out. There is a possibility that the Asset will not complete its maintenance before its Handler gives new orders. It shoves away the feeling and complies with the new order as quickly as possible. Perhaps it should report these malfunctions – frustration. It has not been programmed with the capacity to feel. It half remembers a similar malfunction, memory torn to fragments by electricity but still present enough for it to cling to; near constant moisture pouring from its eyes upon completion of a mission. When it first felt the wetness on its face it had assumed that it was blood and sought mechanical maintenance from the base's technician on its way to a debrief session. It had never wandered the base alone before, and had never defied a direct order by not attending a debrief. But the risk to the Assets functionality that blindness would cause would be unacceptable to the Handlers. This was the lesser of the two evils; going momentarily ‘ _AWOL_ ’. The term had popped into its head, then, but it wasn’t sure where it had heard it before.

When it arrived for maintenance, the technician had laughed, confusing the Asset further. It had summoned several other technicians and ordered the Asset to repeat its malfunction report. The other technicians had laughed too.

Disorientated, the Asset reached up to wipe at the moisture and was shocked to find it clear, instead of crimson as it has been expecting. It didn’t understand why this misidentification had caused such a reaction from the technicians.

“It is not blood," the Asset told him, “but it is still a malfunction.”

This sobered the technician a little, and he nodded tightly.

“Yes. It is. But we will fix you.”

They had fixed the Asset. To completely eradicate the error, the voltage of the chair had been raised dramatically. The malfunction had not occurred again, although it occasionally felt moisture build up around its eyes as if waiting to fall - but the pain of that first wipe kept it from reporting these potential malfunctions. Even with the memory mangled and warped by further wipes, the pain made it bite its lip to refrain from reporting these pangs of frustration, too. It had not affected mission functionality thus far.

Injuries were sustained during its most recent mission, and the Asset tries to move in a way that hides them for fear of punishment, but it is unsure whether it is successful. It feels as though it is tensing its body too much and bending too slowly, in order to prevent its injured ribs from sending sparks of pain through its body. The injuries do not impede functionality enough to require maintenance, so it ignores them and continues onto its newly assigned task.

Placing its half disassembled pistol down, the Asset moves towards the sink next to the lockers to complete the new orders. It briskly washes its hands, and hesitates briefly before removing the mask, assuming its Handler means for the Asset to wash the skin underneath.  When the Asset has finished, it contemplates putting the mask back on, but since it hasn’t been specifically instructed to do so, it leaves it off. A spark of something that may be relief pulses through it as it moves away from the mask and it makes a mental note of the feeling. Another malfunction. Rumlow, Rollins, Kilgariff, Hammond and Reeves have almost finished removing their outer gear and weapons, although they do not do so with as much efficiency and care as the Asset does. There is a young man, too, who settles on the table next to the Asset to disassemble his gun with shaking hands. The Asset recognises this as fear.

The Asset understands from context clues in the STRIKE team’s conversations that the young man is new, although the Assets memory stretches back so shallowly that almost everyone is new to it. To its right, Handler Rumlow and Agent Rollins are laughing about a part of the mission.

“Did you see the way she ran? She really thought she was gonna get away with it. As if she could outrun the Asset. Or its bullets. Fucking idiot.”

The Asset does not understand what is amusing about a target nearly escaping, or the Asset having to correct the STRIKE team’s mistakes to rescue the mission. It bites its tongue to avoid speaking out of turn, but it knows it doesn’t really need to. It never speaks unless spoken too.

The STRIKE team have completed their gear removal and stand in t-shirts and cargo pants, weapons disassembled and stored. The Asset still has one gun left to store and does so without its usual care, suddenly aware that it is lagging behind and is risking punishment. Handler Rumlow claps his hands together to draw the attention of the STRIKE team, and the Asset manages to pack the gun and close the door of the locker before Rumlow starts speaking. It remains facing the lockers, breathing a little too heavily as though it has just finished running, though it isn’t sure why.  _Fear_ , it thinks to itself,  _yet another malfunction._

“Right. Successful mission, good shooting, gold stars all round, blah blah blah. You did good out there for a first timer, Williams.”

“Thank you, sir.” The Asset notes the name of the new recruit. Williams. The Asset never refers to the team by their names, only as ‘sir’, but still. It feels like information that the Asset should retain, as it has for other members of the team. Williams is heavy set and muscular, though slightly smaller than the Asset itself, as most people are. He has curly blonde hair and clear blue eyes. The Asset is unsure why it notes this in its assessment of Williams - it is unrelated to Williams' combat potential, and the Asset does not recall noting the hair colour of Rumlow, or the eye colour of Rollins. It does not recall much, however.

“How did you find working with the Asset?” Rollins asks, and the Asset feels a twinge of what may be anxiety at the idea of Williams being unsatisfied with the work he has observed.

“Um, he’s- extremely effective, sir,” Williams replies, and the team laughs, causing the Asset to frown. Does ‘he’ refer to the Asset? Why do they laugh? Is it not an effective weapon?

“It’s terrifying, you mean?” Rumlow says, and Williams flushes red in response, “Yeah, you and me both kid. But you dealt with it well despite everything. Maybe you could even make it to Handler one day. It’s got a thing for Handlers with blonde hair and blue eyes, apparently, always been more docile for ‘em.”

Continuing to face the lockers had been the correct strategic choice, as the Asset flushes red at the assertion, though it is unsure why.

(A physical reaction is a substantial malfunction. He should report this.  _It_  should -)

Williams frowns at the statement. Perhaps he does not want to spend more time with the Asset than he has to. Perhaps he is confused as to why the Asset would show this preference. The Asset is confused itself.

“Probably just left over Nazi programming,” Rollins adds, “Aryan race, ya know?”

Williams nods and the Asset too is appeased. A preference of its former Handlers, weaved into its programming. This is acceptable.

“First lesson. You keep saying ‘he’ and you’re gonna confuse it. It’s not a man, it’s a weapon. Made in a lab. We call it ‘it’ only, you get me?” Rumlow is saying. The Asset can feel Williams' eyes on it. Had he really thought that the Asset was a person?  

“Hey, Blair Witch!” Rumlow calls. The Asset does not understand what a ‘Blair Witch’ is, but has experience receiving new, nonsensical call signs at random, and can understand through context clues when it is being spoken too. It turns around, hoping the flush that has not faded in Williams’ cheeks has left its own.

“You’ve seen its combat programming, and dealt with it well,” Rumlow is telling Williams. He points to the floor at his feet, and the Asset understands the non-verbal order to kneel, “Now you can get a load of its recreational function.”

Rumlow threads his hands into the Asset’s hair and pulls its head back, exposing its neck like an offering to Williams and the rest of STRIKE. It remembers now, why they keep its hair so long.

“Ain’t it pretty?” Rumlow grins, “Come on, we’re celebrating a job well done! Everyone’s gotta blow of some steam once in a while." There is a laugh from Kilgariff at ‘once in a while’. The Asset understands this as a reaction to the way the phrase downplays the frequency of its recreational use.

“Wait, you mean you…he lets you…I mean it, you have sex with it?” Williams stutters. Rumlow laughs, the Asset assumes in response to the speech malfunction Williams is experiencing. Rumlow tugs on the Assets hair, and it follows the movement forward, leaning its forehead onto the thigh it has been led to instead of where it thought it would be led. Maybe the senior STRIKE agents must explain the Assets recreational function to the new recruit before they begin.

“It doesn’t have to ‘let you’ do anything. It doesn’t really have a choice. But if it did, it’d always say yes, wouldn’t you baby?”

‘ _No_ ’ screams unbidden through the Assets brain, but it understands that this is one of the questions that the Handlers don’t actually want it to answer. It is unsure whether this was the correct assessment, however, when Rollins delivers a sharp kick to its ribs anyway.

 “I’m not gay,” Williams says. Rumlow snorts, and the Asset is confused. It is unsure what this means or why it has prompted this reaction from Rumlow.

“Don’t have to be gay for this.”

“I mean- I’m not bi either. Like, I don’t have any problem with that or anything, but I’m straight,” Williams clarifies, speech malfunction reappearing. Rumlow shakes his head.

“Don’t have to be bi either, kid. It ain’t a man, it’s a thing, remember? Besides, a mouth is a mouth and an ass is an ass. You got a girl waiting for you at home?” Williams answers negatively with a shake of his head.

“Then what you complaining for? Trust me; it’ll blow your mind when it gets going. I promise, the best you’ll ever have,” Rollins is saying, “Besides, it serves a practical function, making it submit. You gotta remind it of its place, and who owns it, so it doesn’t get any lofty ideas.”

The Asset doesn’t understand why Williams is not eager to use its recreational programming, as the only agents are. The senior agents have explained its effectiveness and the function of the programming. Why is Williams delaying the mission?

“Come on Williams, the mission went off without a hitch, now’s when we celebrate a little. I’m not gonna make you do anything but I can tell you wanna. Don’t be embarrassed, kid.”

Rumlow moves his hand through the Assets hair in what may be the most gentle touch it has experienced in its several week-long memory. It still wants the touch to stop.

Williams shakes his head as the Asset feels another pang of forbidden frustration. Doesn’t Williams realise? It’s always worse in the end if you resist.

 “It’s a machine, Williams. It doesn’t want, it doesn’t feel, it just follows programming and orders. Don’t go all soft on it,” Rollins laughs cruelly, and Williams flushes again. The Asset thinks he is ashamed to have misidentified it as a person, or perhaps to have questioned the orders. He continues to question them, though.

“Is it, I mean, is it meant to be used like that? Did they build him-  _it_ \- for that too?” Williams asks.

“It’s more like a happy side effect. Combat is obviously its primary purpose; they wouldn’t have given it an arm like that if it was just a fuck toy. It’s a killer first and foremost. But everything after that is up to us.” Rumlow undoes his belt buckle as he talks, and the cold metal drags along the side of the Assets face as he does so. It suddenly, desperately wishes it had put the mask back on.

“But we’re far from the first ones to have this idea, so there’s programming for it now. It can do all sorts of things. You into some weird shit? Someone’s probably already taught it how to make you happy,” The men laugh, but the Asset is again unsure why. It has a wide variety of skill sets relating to both recreation and combat and can carry out almost any orders given to it with enough training.

“The fist of HYDRA? More like the hole of HYDRA!” Hammond shouts. The Asset has the strangest desire to roll its eyes. Another malfunction to report.

“Assassin first,” Rumlow is saying “Whore a close second.”

“But it’s- there are a lot of you. Us. Can it really take…?”

“Oh come on! You’re not worried about it, are you?” Rollins asks, incredulous. Williams blushes an even deeper red.

“I just – it seems counterproductive, you know? Using your best weapon for…for that. What if he –it- gets hurt?”

“It can’t get hurt, heals too quick. It can feel pain, sure – but you can’t really hurt it. And trust me, we’ve tried,” Reeves and Kilgariff smack their hands together above the Assets head, and Rumlow smiles at the gesture, “That’s why it’s so good for stress relief; you don’t even have to worry about breaking it and Pierce giving you hell.”

Rumlow is being disarmingly patient with the new recruit. The Asset would have been severely reprimanded for questioning its orders even once, and this man has been questioning them for a significant period. Then again, Williams is a person. The Asset is not.

“I just – it’s rape though, right? I mean he – it – doesn’t want it. He – I know you said it’s just a weapon but it looks so human. That’s still gotta be fucked up, ethically, right?”

“ _Ethically fucked up_?” Rumlow repeats, and even the Asset can recognise the confusion in his voice, “You’re working for HYDRA, kid.”

“I know, it’s dumb. It just. It feels different, I don’t know.” Williams is still resisting. The Asset wishes he would just join the mission or leave, so they can get the debrief over with and the Asset can return to cryo, where no one grabs its hair, and its malfunctions go unseen.

“Look at it, kid,” Rumlow sighs. Williams follows this order without protest, turning his gaze to the Asset where it kneels before its Handler.

“Do you think, if it wanted to, it could kill us all right now and walk out of here? Yes or no?”

“Yes,” Williams replies with no hesitation. Correct, the Asset thinks, noting the apparent fear in Williams’ gaze when he looks at its metal arm. Perhaps this is why he resists using it for its recreational purpose?

“Am I holding it down, or stopping it moving in any way? Have I even said a word to it to make it come over here?”

“No,” Williams answers. The Asset feels another malfunction - annoyance, perhaps? - at these words. It was given a clear non-verbal order to kneel before Handler Rumlow. There is no need to 'hold it down' or 'stop it moving' - it is more than capable of following such simple orders and remaining still. 

 “Has it tried to escape once, even though the door is wide open? Even when it was unaccompanied in the field for over an hour?”

Williams shakes his head again. The Asset is confused by the turn the conversation has taken. It understands the word ‘escape’, but not in the context given. A weapon cannot ‘escape’. It is a tool, not a prisoner. Where would it go?

“Secretary Pierce has entered the building and would like to debrief the Asset at your earliest convenience, Commander Rumlow,” A female voice says over the intercom system. The Asset doesn’t flinch, having already heard the low electric hum of the speakers kicking in, too quiet for the humans to hear. There is a collective groan from the STRIKE team. They will not get their recreational time today.

Williams appears nervous at the mention of Pierce's arrival, though the Asset does not understand why. It is sanctioned for recreational use. Even Secretary Pierce uses it for this purpose.

“What if he sees-“ Williams begins, but Rumlow cuts him off with a humourless laugh.

“Pierce? Pierce doesn’t care what we do to it as long as he gets it to himself when he wants it." He gives the Assets hair a small tug, but it barely registers pain at such a low level anymore. The Asset panics momentarily when Rumlow does not release its hair, however. Is he going to use it for its recreational purpose anyway, even though Secretary Pierce has arrived? If it comes to Pierce used, dirty and late, it will be the one who is punished, even though it has followed all orders given to it.  The Asset is so relieved when it is pulled sideways by its hair and released that it loses its balance and hits the ground. “He hates when we use it before him though, so I guess your initiation will have to wait until tomorrow, Williams.”

The Asset returns to its knees, rising slowly to hide the pain in its ribs. Even with only minutes left with the Asset, they will find a way to make it suffer if they sense this weakness. It settles its hands on its knees, momentarily disorientated from its head hitting the floor and its bruised ribs, but notes the disapproving look Handler Rumlow gives it and rushes to secure both hands behind its back instead, in a position of supplication.

“Good. Stay right there, Soldier. Secretary Pierce will be here to  _debrief_  you soon,” Rumlow says, and the Asset actually flinches slightly, though luckily the STRIKE team are already on their way out the door. It has not met Pierce since its last wipe but it understands that he holds the highest level of authority over the Asset. Its memories of Pierce have been torn apart over and over, but the fragments that remain send visceral fear coursing through the Asset. The malfunctions are worse than it first thought. It has hidden them from Rumlow and Rollins and their STRIKE team effectively, but Pierce will see.

Pierce always sees.


End file.
